Provoke

I stood there, gobsmacked that it had all been that easy. Two words, some cash, and just like that, I was in.

Chapter One

Leeta

Laughing, I tried to duck out of the way as I tried to get dressed. He wasn’t making things easy.

“You,” he said, pulling me into his arms, “are fucking beautiful.”

“That isn’t going to get you out of dinner with my parents tomorrow.” I laughed as he nibbled on my ear. The feel of his tongue circling the tip of my lobe was making me wet. The things that boy could do with his tongue . . .

If he keeps this up, I’ll have to change my clothes.

“You sure about that?” he mumbled, tugging at the buttons on my shirt. “I mean, I can make it worth your while.”

His fingers slipped underneath the cup of my bra, tweaking at my nipple. I giggled as he kissed my neck, my hands running over his tattooed, muscular forearms, up his neck to his thick, dark hair. At twenty-six, Mace was far from perfect, but he was perfect for me.

“I’m sure you could,” I giggled, pulling away. I re-buttoned my shirt. “But unfortunately, right now I have to get to work, and you will be meeting my parents tomorrow night.”

He groaned, defeated. “Fine. But be warned, parents and I usually don’t mix.” He held out his arms, as if he were presenting evidence to support his argument. I shook my head and smiled.

All I saw was an incredibly hot guy in a tight black tee that hugged his sexy body, and a pair of faded jeans. He was my rough-talking tough guy, but more than that, he was a sweet, thoughtful man who would do anything for me. I’d lost count of the number of times he’d come home with a bouquet of flowers, or a box of chocolates and some wine. He was a romantic at heart, which, looking at him, you would struggle to believe.

Everything about Mace made me squirm in the best way—from little things like him wiping an eyelash from my cheek, right through to the mind-blowing sex he delivered to me night after night. Sometimes it was like he knew me better than I did. I thought I’d experienced passion before I met him, but he made every man I had ever experienced seem bland and empty.

He was the type of guy who didn’t give a shit want anyone thought of him, and did what he wanted. But with me, he was himself: no barriers, no attitude—just Mace.

That was one of the many things I loved about him, but people often took his straightforward attitude the wrong way. People like my parents.

#

Not that I’d ever tell h

im, but he was right: Mace was far from what my parents would consider a suitable match for their precious only daughter. Between the numerous—albeit sexy—tattoos, the bike, and the whole father-and-brother-in-prison factor, he was never going to be good enough for the prestigious Colonel Derrick Drake and his wife, Matilda.

Ugh. I hated this. I was freaking twenty-three, and my parents still treated me like I was fifteen. I hated it even more that deep down it actually mattered to me what they thought. I wanted them to like Mace. I wanted everyone to see what I saw. But prior experience had taught me that they wouldn’t get past his appearance to see the man that I was in love with. They saw what they wanted to.

I was a good girl prosecutor in love with the son of a notorious gangland killer. I lived by the law, where his family made their own. There was no doubt in my mind that Dad would have heard of his family. Everyone had. The history of the infamous Jordan family went back many years, and they were definitely people you wouldn’t want to piss off. Hell, I’d done a freaking paper on his great-grandfather for my Criminal Law unit at university. I never thought I’d fall for someone so different . . . but I had, and I was damn happy about it.

My parents would see what they wanted to, and that would be it. He would be added to the long list of wrong decisions they thought I’d made. But this time, it was different. This time, their opinion wasn’t going to change things.

“Go,” he muttered, pressing his lips against mine. “We don’t want them firing your ass.” He cupped the back of my head and indulged me in a kiss that almost had me ready to call in sick—or quit my job completely and spend my days naked on top of him. Now that would be nice.

“Bye. I’ll call you, okay?” I said, ducking in for one more kiss.

#

Coffee in hand, I walked through the office and over to my desk. Throwing down my handbag and the stack of files in my arms, I sighed. Not even nine a.m. and I was already buggered. This was why I hated Mondays.

“How are we today?” I asked Tim, who was lingering near my door with that look on his face—the one that said he wanted something.

“Leet, we need to talk.” I raised my eyebrows as Tim sighed dramatically and leaned across my desk, his thick, blond hair falling across his deep-brown eyes.

“Tim. What is it?” I arched an eyebrow and sat back in my chair, waiting for the impending hurricane of emotional turmoil he was about to unleash. And no, I was not being dramatic.

“It’s Marcus. I cannot take any more of his incessant whining. He needs to go. I mean, I understand where this hate for life is coming from. If someone cut my balls off, I’m sure I’d be the same. But,” he paused, shaking his head, “there is not enough room for the both of us in my apartment.”

I laughed as I shook my head. “Did I not tell you that your personality was probably not suited to a Burmese?”